


Trust

by miss_slipslop



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_slipslop/pseuds/miss_slipslop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Even though, I’m always here for you. Whether we’re angsty high schoolers, or destitute med students, or surgeons at Johns Hopkins. And that’s a promise.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucida/gifts).



> Belated birthday fic! 
> 
> ...And the fic that is the result of endless emails and hours of rambling. Thanks again for developing Nicky/Char and this crazy world with me. Pig livers will never not be awesome. 
> 
> I hope I did Nicky justice, and that it's the right blend of angst and humor.

March of Senior Year. 

 

“Another day down,” I say to Nicky, as we head out to the parking lot. 

He raises an eyebrow at me. “And ninety-four to go.” 

“Hey! I’m trying to be optimistic here!” 

“It’s high school, Char.” He pushes open the wide swinging doors to the back lot. “In this cesspool, that word doesn’t exist.” 

I can’t help but laugh.

“So,” I say, as I search for my car keys. “Do you have to give your sisters a ride today?” 

“No.” He actually looks happy. “Claire’s got dance practice, and Margo got a ride with a friend.” 

“Aww.” I pull a long face. “No listening to Backstreet Boys on the ride home? You must be devastated.” 

“It will be tough, but I think I’ll survive. Somehow, someway, life will continue.” 

I snicker. “So since you’re free, do you want to come over for a bit? We could watch Dr. Who.” 

“As much as your quiet, non-nosy house appeals to me, I can’t. I’ve got a dentist appointment.” He makes a face. “Tomorrow?” 

“I’ve got to volunteer at the hospital tomorrow.” 

“Some friend you are. Putting volunteering in front of Dr. Who marathons!” 

“Be quiet.” I shove his shoulder slightly. “Next day?” 

He nods. “I think that works. Any chance to escape my house is good.” 

I roll my eyes at him. “Your family’s not so bad. Sure, Claire and Margo--” 

“They’re loud and nosy. At least your house is quiet. You’re so lucky.” 

“Too quiet sometimes.” I say. “Except when--” 

I stop. Nicky doesn’t need to hear this. He’s my best friend, but there are limits.

“Except when what?” 

“Except when the dog starts barking,” I say hastily. 

He raises an eyebrow again. 

“Would you stop doing that?” 

“Doing what?” 

“That eyebrow thing you do when you think I’m making things up.” 

“I don’t have an eyebrow thing. And you are making things up. Carrot hardly ever barks.” 

“You so have an eyebrow thing,” I say. “And then you stare intensely, like you’re trying to read my mind or something.” 

“Okay, crazy.” 

“I am not crazy! I’m telling the truth! You have an eyebrows thing!” 

“Right. And with that, I’m going home. If you feel up to telling me what the ‘except when’ really means, give me a call.” 

I nod, and unlock my car door. “See you later, eyebrows.” 

“Bye, crazy!” 

I laugh, and start up my car. We back out at the same time, both turn out of the parking lot. Our paths diverge at the first intersection. He turns right, I go forward. I always make ridiculous faces at him before he has to turn. He pretends to be horrified, but I always catch him trying hold back a smile. 

Today is no exception, and as always, I feel that little sense of dread when my light changes. I hope Nicky never realizes just how much I hate going home. There’s a reason why I pack my schedule full of extracurriculars, even though I don’t really like being at SHS either.   
Maybe I’ll stop and get coffee, do my homework downtown, I think. It’s already 4:30 though. I’d had a Yearbook meeting, and then Honor Society. Mom’s counting on me to start dinner. 

Wednesdays are the worst, because mom doesn’t get home until six, and dad’s almost always working late these days. Most of the time, it’s just Mom and I at dinner. It’s been like that for awhile though. 

I just really hate coming home to an empty house, I think, pulling into the driveway. Nicky might complain, but at least there’s always something going on, the second he walks inside. 

“Hello?” I call, opening the door. I know no one’s going to answer, but the silence gets unbearable sometimes. All the lights are turned off, and the house feels a bit like a tomb. If it wasn’t for Carrot hobbling towards me, making “let-me-out-now” noises, I’d think it was. 

I go to let Carrot outside, and turn on every light downstairs as I do so. Mom gets annoyed when I do this, but I’m entitled to at least some acts of teenage rebellion. After this, I turn up the stereo. I know this routine. Put the casserole in the oven, obsessively check my email to see if any colleges have gotten back to me, do homework until Mom gets home, pray that Dad’s working late or that if he does happen to come home early, dinner doesn’t turn into yet another fight.   
\--

Dad calls when I’m in the middle of an AP Physics review sheet. He’s going to be late again. Don’t wait up, he’ll get dinner on the way home. I nod dully. I know the routine. 

The phone rings again, about half an hour later, when I’ve moved on to AP Chemistry. This time, it’s Mom. 

“I’m running a bit later,” she says. “One of the cases was more complicated than we thought.” 

I nod. “No problem. I heated up the casserole.” 

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around--besides being a wonderful daughter, of course.” 

“Aw, you’re too kind.” I close my Chemistry textbook, suddenly feeling tired. “Do you know much longer you’ll be?” 

“Probably only an hour.” I hear her sigh. “I’m sorry, Char.” 

“No, it’s fine. Dinner will be here when you get back, and I’ve got homework.” 

“Still. My schedule’s going to be a lot better next week. Did you let Carrot out?” 

“Of course.” 

“Good. And--” 

“Dad’s working late,” I say flatly. “Like late-late.” 

“Typical.” She snorts. 

I’m silent for a moment. Over the past couple of years, my Mother’s voice has become increasingly tinged with bitterness. Sometimes though, it still startles me. 

“I’ve got to go, honey. They’re paging me.” 

“Okay.” I say. “I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

I sit back in my chair, stare into space for a moment. 

“Pull yourself together,” I mutter, opening my textbook once more. 

I can’t concentrate though. I look at the clock. Nicky should be back from the dentist, I think, picking up the phone and dialing his number. It rings once, before someone picks up. 

“Hello?! Suzi? You would not believe--” 

The voice is loud, overly-bubbly. Headache inducing, even. 

“Can I talk to Nicky, Claire?” 

“Hi to you too, Char. It’s okay though--I get it. You want to talk to your boyfriend.” 

“He’s not--” 

She’s already dropped the phone. I hear her screaming in the background-- 

“Nicky! Your girlfriend’s on the phone!” 

“Fuck off Claire, she’s not my girlfriend!” 

“I’m telling mom that you told me to fuck off!” 

“Ooh, I’m scared!” He picks up the phone. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry about my Neanderthal family. What’s up?”   
“  
Are you busy?” I ask. “My mom has to work later, and--” 

“Dr. Who?” 

“If that’s okay.” I pause, thinking. “I also could use some help with the Physics review.” 

“That works. We can watch an episode, and then work on Physics--would you shut up, Claire? Sorry,” he says. “She’s calling me a nerd.” 

“We are nerds.” 

“Exactly. So, physics and Dr. Who?” 

“That sounds good.” I say. “Thanks for coming over. I just need some company.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

He’s over in fifteen minutes. We lie on the couch together, quizzing each other on the review and passing a carton of ice cream back and forth. At one point, mom calls to say she’s going to be even later, and I just nod.

I catch Nicky watching me again, when I get off the phone. 

“What?” I ask. 

“I’ll wait with you until someone gets home.” 

“You don’t have to do that. I’m perfectly capable of being home by myself.” 

“I want to,” he says simply. Then he gives me that look of his, the one that says “this is not up for discussion.” 

“Okay,” I nod. A part of me is so relieved, because even though I’d never admit it, I hate being by myself at night. I try to think of something to say, something simple, not complicated, free from family drama. 

“Do you want more chocolate ice cream?” 

“Is that even a question?” 

I pass over the carton, thinking. If an onlooker were to stop by, they’d see a happy scene. Two people (best friends? brother and sister?), curled up on the couch. Books scattered around them, Dr. Who playing, everything at ease.

Safe.   
\--

April of Senior Year. 

I have the volume on my headphones turned up full blast, and I can still hear every word of my parents’ argument. My name is coming up far too much for my liking, Mom’s going on and on about how he needs to remember that he has a family, that I’ve got piano recitals and debate finals and does he even known who my friends are? 

Dad had counteracted that of course he knows who they are, there’s that one super arrogant boy who I always hang around. I’d had to stop myself from going down and joining the fight at that statement.

My door creaks slightly. Carrot pushes his nose inside. He looks worried too. 

“Hey puppy.” I say. I reach out a hand to pet him, and it’s only as I do so, that I realize they’re shaking. 

“What is this nonsense?” I ask the dog, voice breaking slightly. Of course he doesn’t answer me, just stares with slightly mournful eyes. It’s time like these that I wish I had a sibling. At least we could mock these fights together. 

I take a deep breath, dry my eyes, and open my computer. I have an essay for English to finish. Despite the screaming downstairs, the background on my computer makes me smile. Yale’s campus in the spring. My ticket out, I think. I’d gotten the acceptance letter two weeks ago, Nicky and I had snuck champagne from my pantry and made gigantic ice cream sundaes to celebrate. Now, I’ve been telling myself that in August, I’ll be gone. Gone from this narrow-minded town, gone from this overly-silent house and the ever-increasing fighting. 

I have a calender on my desk, where I scratch off the days. Four more months, is my constant refrain.   
\-- 

May of Senior Year. 

I’ve been in Advanced Placement exams all week, am existing solely on caffeine and exhilaration at finally being done with the last one. I’ll never have to do another AP French review again. 

I’m standing in the parking lot, waiting for Nicky. As soon as I see him approaching, I start jumping up and down, waving. 

He jogs over, smirks at me. 

“Someone’s happy.” 

“Damn right I am.” I grin at at him. “I’m done with Advanced Placement forever! No more French! No more tests! One step closer to finishing high school.”

“Nice going.” He holds out his hand, gives me a high five. “So how did you do on the test?” 

“I kicked ass, naturally.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” 

I blush, before continuing. “I’m just in such a good mood. I could almost do something crazy.” I pause. Like--like--” 

“Like stealing lilacs from that bush over there? They do belong to the school.” 

“Yes!” I burst out laughing, and run over to the lilac tree. “SHS doesn’t deserve such pretty flowers,” I say. “And you know, I just had a brutal week, so I need them.”

Nicky’s laughing too, already starting to pick them. “Here you go, Advanced Placement queen,” he snickers, throwing a handful at me. 

“Oh that’s nice!” I pick them up, throw one back at him. 

He gives a mock gasp. “Alright Johanssen. This means war. Lilac war. Stolen lilacs war.” 

“The worst kind of war!” I am doubled over in laughter, even as I throw more flowers at him. 

We eventually calm down. The ground below us is covered in purple flowers. 

“I think what we’ve done to this tree sums up how we feel about high school,” I say. 

“That we want to desecrate it?” 

“Exactly.” I bend down, and scoop up an armful. “We might as well take these. They’ll make the house smell good.”

“My Mom will like them,” Nicky says. He picks up some as well. “Oh wait Char,” he adds, as we move towards our cars. “You have petals in your hair. I’ll get them.” 

He picks them out, then at the last minute takes a new spring of lilac, tucks it behind my ear. 

“There.” He says. “Spoils of war.”   
\--

It doesn’t feel so bad, going home today. I’ve conquered the AP Exams, and my car smells like lilacs. I’m graduating. Summer’s on the horizon. Mom’s managed to snag me an amazing volunteer position at the hospital. 

And then in August, Yale. Getting out of Stoneybrook, and away from my house. Of course, the one thing is that I’ll be away from my best friend, but that’s what they invented email for. Things are looking up, I decide, pulling into my driveway behind my Dad’s car--

Wait. 

Why is my father home? He never gets back this early. It’s not even five yet. Oh well. Maybe he’s sick. As long as he and mom don’t fight, I’m not complaining.

I let myself in, go into the kitchen to get a snack. I’m looking in the fridge for something, when I hear footsteps. 

“Hi Charlotte.” 

I startle slightly. “Hi Dad.” 

“Thanks for letting me know you’re home.” 

I roll my eyes. “I was hungry. I was going to say hi in a minute.” 

“Don’t give me that tone, Charlotte Elisabeth.” 

I grit my teeth. Sometimes, I swear my father looks for a fight. I shake my head. It’s strange. He taught me how to ride a bike, told me to memorize the entire periodic table when I was twelve to be “ahead of the curve.” When I was younger, and he was home more, we used to walk Carrot together, and then he’d help me with algebra. 

In the past two years though, it’s like we’ve become strangers. Sometimes, I worry that it’s my fault. Despite Dad encouraging me in science, telling me engineering jokes (and expecting me to get them as a twelve year old), mom’s the one who’s always understood me more. She’s the one who yelled at teachers to let me skip a grade, who encouraged me to start volunteering on the hospital, said that yes, if I work hard, I have what it takes to go to med school. When I’d told my plans to my father, he’d looked at me--

“You have to be smart to be a surgeon Charlotte,” he’d said. “The best.” 

I know what he’d meant, but the way he’d phrased it still stung. 

This was right around the time he started working more hours, and mom started setting only two plates at dinner. A lot of the times, she wouldn’t even bother cooking. The two of us would order Chinese food, watch stupid comedies. 

It’s how it’s always been sort of, mom and I, doing our own thing, forging our own way. It’s just became more exaggerated, glaring in the past two years. Comical. Three people, in the same house, who don’t even know each other’s entire stories. We’re all so wrapped in our own worlds, like we’re all on our own personal islands or something. 

As I rummage around the refrigerator, still looking for a snack, I hear the door open and close again. A second later, my mother’s voice.   
This is weird. She’s never home this early. She emerges in the kitchen, looking tired. Stressed. Worried. 

“Mom?” I say. “What’s going on?” 

She looks at me, eyes full of sadness. “Why don’t we go in the living room?” She says. “Your father and I have something we need to talk to you about.” 

At that statement alone, my body goes numb.   
\-- 

I’m sitting on my bed, shaking. I can’t cry. My heart is pounding though. 

I am about to become a child of divorce. I shouldn’t even be that surprised. This could have been five years ago. Then there’s the fact that divorce just doesn’t happen here, in Stoneybrook. Well, there’s a few families, but they’re the ones that everyone whispers about. 

I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to calm down. I can’t though. The way I’d found out had been the worst. As soon as we’d sat down, my father had blurted out that he was “not happy,” that he’d been having an affair with a woman in New York City for the past two years. Then somehow, the conversation had dissolved into yet another screaming fight, a “this is not the way you tell her, do you even have feelings?” 

I’d ran up to my room as soon as they’d started yelling. Dad had actually noticed, said that he was so, so sorry, but he was tired of lies. 

“You’re not sorry,”I’d spat, in a cold voice, I didn’t even know I had. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it. You had a choice in the matter.” 

He’d backed away, told me I hurt him when I say things like that. To which I’d gone in my room, slammed the door.

Mom keeps knocking, but I won’t even answer for her. She’s saying that this will all be okay, that I can talk to someone if I want, that we’ve got each other. 

Suddenly, I am seized with the urge to run. I want to get out of here, drive my car as far as it will take me. Forget that even. I want to be anywhere that’s not my house. 

I run my hands through my hair, and as I do so, the lilac from earlier falls onto the bed. It’s crumpled now. I’d forgotten I was even wearing it. 

The most obvious choice right now, is to call my best friend. Yet even as I reach for my phone, I feel terrified. Even a little bit ashamed. I know Nicky won’t judge me for a second, but at the same time, I feel like I’m burdening him. His own family is so wonderful, so free of these sorts of problems. What if I call him, and he has no idea how to respond, and then it’s awkward? 

So I take a few deep breaths, brush my hair, and then call Becca Ramsey instead. She’s always complaining I don’t spend enough time with her anyways. I leave my room, tell my parents I’m fine, going out for a bit. They stare at me, Mom tries to say something, but I’m already out the door. 

I don’t mention the divorce to Becca, or anything that happened this afternoon. We watch a stupid movie, talk about AP classes. 

When I get home later, I realize I don’t remember anything either of us said. 

\--

Early June 

 

It’s been a week since the news, and I still haven’t said a word to Nicky. We still study in the library everyday, watch Dr. Who. He even came over for dinner the other night, when Dad was out, working as usual. I’d told Mom not to mention anything about the divorce. She’d told me I was being ridiculous, of course he would support me, but she agreed in the end. 

Dad’s slowly starting to move out his stuff. I almost tripped over a huge box this morning. He’s pricing apartments in Manhattan, says I’m always welcome to visit. 

I’d said I was going to be late for school. 

I know though, that I have to tell people eventually. It’s not like I’m walking around, with some scarlet “D” on my chest, even though that’s what I feel like. It’s not your fault, Mom had told me last night. You did nothing wrong. No one is going to blame you, or call you shameful.   
It’s hard right now though, to believe this. 

I’m standing in my usual spot in the parking lot, like any other day, waiting for my best friend. We’re driving to lunch. It’s a nice enough day that we’re going to grab sandwiches, and then sit by the creek in Brenner Field. 

I know though, that I have to tell him. My graduation is coming up, and both my parents are going to be there. One last event as a “family.” Nicky picks up on things too. He’s already been invited out to lunch with us after the ceremony, and I know he’s going to ask questions. 

I see him coming across the parking lot, and wave. 

\--

“There is absolutely nothing good on the radio,” Nicky snaps. We’re taking his car, because my air conditioning is acting up, and it’s hot today. He switches to another station, makes a face. “Fucking Celine Dion. If I hear that song from Titanic one more time, I’m going to murder a small animal or something.” 

I burst out laughing. 

“It’s true!” He fiddles with the dial again. “And now it’s the fucking Spice Girls. Good thing Claire’s not in the car. Does the universe hate me today or something?” 

I laugh again. There is a moment of silence. Nicky turns off the radio altogether. The sun is beating down, and even with the air conditioner on full blast, it’s warm. 

“I have to tell you something.” I blurt out. 

Smooth, Char. I think. Now is not the time, when we’re driving down Main Street. 

I’ve done the damage though. He quirks his head slightly, does the eyebrow thing. 

“Oh?” He asks. “What is it? 

In my head, I’d prepared an eloquent little speech, all about hard times and how this really wasn’t a big deal, and I didn’t want to seem like I was complaining, but as a friend, he needed to know what was going on...

“My parents are getting a divorce.” The words burst from my lips, quick and furious, and then, my voice breaks. There’s something about uttering the actual words, that just puts me over the edge. 

Nicky pulls the car over. 

“Char,” he says, simply, quietly. “I am so, so sorry.” 

I am sobbing now, shoulders shaking. Nicky puts a hand on my shoulder, then pulls me into a hug. I’m trying to regain composure, but can’t. He’s never seen me cry like this. 

“I don’t mean to cry on your shirt,” I manage to choke out. “I’m--” 

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “You just got horrible news. You’re allowed to cry.” 

I dry my eyes, even as a new round of tears threaten to crop up. It’s weird. In the past few years, through all my parents fights, the news itself, this is the first time I’ve allowed myself to really feel anything. 

“I was so scared to tell you.” I babble. “Just because your family’s so great, and I didn’t want things to be awkward, and the last thing I want to do is complain, but it was getting ridiculous, and wow, now I’m sputtering.” 

“I’m not going to lie.” Nicky’s says, slowly. “This is foreign to me. You’re my friend though, and even though I can’t understand it, I’ll be there for you. No matter what.” 

I sniffle. “Dr. Who and chocolate ice cream?” 

“Precisely.” 

“That’s all I ask. That and you know, don’t tell anyone I had a mini breakdown in your car.” 

“A breakdown that’s perfectly understandable.” He shakes his head. “Char, I just...it was your Dad, wasn’t it? I know it was him.” 

I nod, tears prickling at my eyes again. 

Nicky shakes his head. “Bastard,” he spits. 

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. A second later, Nicky joins me. I can’t breathe, I’m laughing so hard. There’s something about his matter of fact statement, that describes the situation perfectly, and yet in an odd way, makes me feel as if things will be okay. 

“This is why I love you.” I say. “Well, you know what I mean. Why you’re my best friend.” 

“What? For hitting the nail on the head?”

“Exactly.” 

“Well, he is.” He hugs me one last time. “It’s going to be okay though. I know that’s the most cliche saying in the book, but I promise that it will. Even if we have to eat chocolate ice cream everyday.” 

I take a deep breath. “I know.” I say. “Let’s go get pig livers now, and then go wading in the creek.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

He pulls into the street again, turns on the radio. 

“Fucking Hanson!” 

And of course, I can’t help but laugh again.   
\-- 

August. 

“I don’t like much about Stoneybrook,” I say, turning to Nicky. “I will miss this place though.” 

He nods. “It’s pretty nice.” 

We’re sitting on large rocks at the Brenner Field stream, dipping our feet in the water. There’s a picnic lunch between us, and it’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Despite the perfect weather though, there’s no other people around. This place is more secluded though. You have to go through a narrow path to find it, and then climb down several large boulders to get to the stream. We’d stumbled across it by chance my freshman year of high school, and almost every time we go, we’re the only ones. Nicky’s siblings are still trying to figure out where we “sneak off” to. 

We’ve come here a lot this summer. 

“So.” Nicky says. “You leave for Yale in a week. Are you excited?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “A little bit. Nervous too. It’s weird. I’m going to be away from home for the first time.” 

“You’ll only be an hour away though. And with everything you’re going through, it’s good.” He sighs. “I wish I was going with you,” he says, with a slight note of bitterness. 

“It’s only one more year.” My voice is quiet. “And I wish--” 

“I’ll be fine.” He says, shortly. “I always am.” 

“You should come visit me at Yale,” I say. “See how you like it.” 

“Maybe I will. Even though I’m pretty dead set on Princeton at this point.” He turns to face me. “Don’t let my bitterness about the cesspool worry you though. You’re going to be amazing.” 

“I hope so.” 

“You are. You’re getting away from your stupid Dad, and this stupid town, and you’re going to do pre-med, and then next thing you know, you’re going to be a surgeon at say...Johns Hopkins Hospital.” 

I let out a short laugh. “That’s a nice fantasy. Johns Hopkins is one of the best hospitals in the world. You have to be well, unbelievably brilliant to work there. Top grades, top--” 

“You will be the best though,” he says, calmly, seriously. “I’m sure of it.” 

There’s something about his assuredness that makes me smile. 

“Fine.” I say. “I’ll be the best. Maybe I’ll even be the Chief of Neurosurgery or something.” 

“Now you’re talking.” He smiles at me, puts a hand on mine. “You,” he says. “Are going to be fine. It’s like you always told me. You’re going to show the bastards--including your father.” 

“Can we not talk about him?” I roll my eyes. It’s just Mom and I in the house now. He’s moved into his apartment in Manhattan, and I haven’t visited him once. He’s not even coming to move me into Yale, and I prefer it that way. Then, I will admit it’s nice that our house feels like, well, a home again. I no longer dread walking in the front door, actually spend time reading in the living room. 

“All I’m saying is, you are.” 

I laugh. “Maybe we should go back home, write letters to ourselves, and then vow we won’t look at them for fifteen years. Then, we can see how much of it came true.” 

“So you’d better put in working at Johns Hopkins.” 

“Fine,” I grumble. 

“The letters sound like a good idea,” he says. “We can go soon.” 

“Let’s sit here for a bit longer,” I say. “Like ten more minutes. The sun feels so good.” 

And the day is beautiful, and I feel safe. If I could feel this always, I would be the happiest person alive. 

“That’s not a bad idea either.” 

I turn to him. “Thank you for being here for me this summer.” 

“Don’t mention it. After all, isn’t that what the sappy cards and movies want us to believe? That’s what best friends are for?”   
He smiles though, a second later. “Even though, I’m always here for you. Whether we’re angsty high schoolers, or destitute med students, or surgeons at Johns Hopkins. And that’s a promise.” 

I put my arm around him, and we sit, watching the sun dart across the ripples of the water.


End file.
